The Girl in the Mirror
by rooty-boots
Summary: Sisterfic to Forgiven Not Forgotten, finally updated! This fic fills in the gaps of what happened the night Susan was attacked, and explores the aftermath on the Pevensie family. Reading FnF is strongly recommended.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a sister-fic for my first ever story "Forgotten, not Forgiven," which I would suggest you read as well so as not to be confused by what's happening. This first chapter is very similar to Chapter One of F.N.F, but it's taken from a slightly different perspective, with new insights, so hopefully you won't find it too dull. There's a lot more action to come in the next few chapters! (PS I don't own any of the Pevensies but there are a few minor OC's that are mine.)**

Susan sat at her mother's dressing table, brushing out her long dark hair, a wistful smile playing on her lips. A new record twirled on the gramophone and in her mind's eye she was twirling too; spinning round and round in the arms of some handsome, unknown young man.

She counted the strokes in time with the beat of the music, and then, having completed her allotted one hundred, Susan put the brush down, swept up her hair in two combs, and shifted her attention to her face. First, a little powder to give her a smooth foundation to work from; this accomplished, she scrutinised her reflection for flaws. She had to admit she was looking a little wan what with the many late nights she'd been having recently, but a quick pinch, and perhaps just a tiny soupcon of her mother's American-bought rouge would soon lift her complexion. Then it was just a matter of brushing her eyebrows and giving herself a quick stroke of mascara. Not a great deal. However much Edmund might joke that she looked like a poor man's Vargas girl, she didn't want to look _cheap_. Silly boy; as if he knew anything about that sort of thing!

Though she wasn't truly aware of it, it often seemed to Susan that there was something missing when she looked at herself in the mirror. She scoured the fashion papers every week, without really knowing what it was that she was looking for; presumably some magical potion or powder, but she hadn't found it yet, whatever it was. Sighing, she lit a match from the little box at her elbow and waited a moment before blowing out the flame. As she lined her eyes with the sooty residue, Susan wished fervently that her mother would hurry up and send her the long promised kohl pencil.

Satisfied at last, she got up and moved over to the bed, where her new frock lay. She had just finished making it from a pattern her mother had brought home with her from her last trip to the States, and Susan was really quite pleased with the results. It was a pretty cornflower colour; nicely form fitting, with sweet little blue buttons all down the front. Those had been scavenged from her little sister's old school cardigan, but you would never guess; it really looked quite stylish. Putting the dress on, Susan span herself around, delighting at the sight and sensation of the skirt swishing around her legs. This was going to be a lucky dress. Glancing at the clock, she noticed the time, jumped up and headed for the door, grabbing a pen off her mother's bureau as she passed.

Descending the stairs she looked down to see Peter at the bottom, his hand tightly gripping the banister. Oh dear, it seemed she was for it; he looked terribly serious, and strangely on edge.

"What's wrong, Pete?" she asked, concerned, wanting to get it over with, whatever 'it' was.

"Don't go out tonight Susan," he said flatly. Susan's heart sank a little in her chest. She loved her brother and genuinely hated being at odds with him, but he really could be such a bore at times; he seemed to want her to stay at home every night. Her friends thought she was lucky to have such a protective, _handsome_ elder brother, but it could be pretty wearing at times.

"I've got to go. I promised I would," she pointed out, giving him a rueful little smile. She wasn't about to break a promise.

Patting Peter's arm as she passed, Susan walked quickly into the kitchen, wanting to avoid any chance of a scene. She found her younger brother sat at the table, hunched industriously over his books. This pleased her; Edmund hadn't been getting very good reports from school, he had been somewhat distracted of late, since he and Lucy had gotten home from their aunt and uncle's house. Susan had had to have what her mother would call "a little talk" with him earlier, as the two of them washed the dinner plates - Just because she had failed miserably at her 'O' Levels, it didn't mean that she wanted her younger siblings to follow in her footsteps. Ed and Lu were clever, like Peter, and she couldn't bear to see their potential being squandered through idle daydreams.

"Edmund, would you help me with my lines? You're the only one who can do them straight."

Her winning smile faltered a little as Edmund hurriedly flipped the page he had been working on, and composed his face into a ludicrous imitation of concentration. She wasn't fooled for a second; quick as a flash, she grabbed the exercise book from his hands and turned the page back to find a pencil drawing of a half-man, half-horse creature that she vaguely remembered from Greek mythology. What was it called again…?

"Oh Edmund," she admonished. "You're supposed to be doing your algebra, not doodling all over your exercise book! You'll end up getting lines again if you're not careful. What's that you've drawn, anyway?"

"It's a centaur, Susan," Edmund laughed, but he sounded a little wounded. "Why, is it so bad you can't tell?"

"Oh yes, I can see it is now." Not wanting to hurt his feelings further, Susan nodded, smiled and handed the book back into her brother's waiting palms. "It's beautiful darling. Now are you going to help me with my lines or not, Mr Picasso?"

Edmund groaned, "Do I have to? Why can't you just wear knee-socks instead?"

Susan couldn't stop a giggle escaping from her lips; even though he had shot up to be two inches taller than she was, her little brother was still very much a boy.

"Because I'll look like a kid, that's why! You wally Ed, you haven't got a clue!" Come on Eddy, give me a hand. I'll love you forever." She batted her eyelashes in a ridiculous imitation of the glamorous movie stars her sixteen year old brother still seemed to find so terrifying.

He groaned, and an amusing look of alarm mixed with deep distaste crossed his adolescent face. "Oh all right, if I must. But you look ridiculous if you ask me."

"Hence why I never ask you!" she quipped, and beckoned to him. "Come into the living room, it's brighter in there. Don't want you straining your eyes."

She grabbed his wrist and Edmund reluctantly followed his sister down the hall into the living room, where their siblings were gathered next to the fire. Peter sat in their father's chair reading a rather dry book about mythology. Lucy was lying on the rug, inexplicably barefoot and waving her naked toes in the air. Susan gave her a reproving look; since she was a baby, her little sister had had a dangerous habit of sitting too close to the fire. It made Susan nervous, but then Lucy never did seem to be scared of anything.

Standing stock still, Susan passed the pen to Edmund and said: "Make sure you get them straight."

Edmund muttered: "Yeah, yeah, I know," then crouched down on the floor. Taking Susan's ankle in his hand, he drew a long, straight line up the back of her right leg. It was very ticklish, and it was all she could do to keep still. Painstakingly, the pen crept up her leg to the sensitive crook of her knee; then the same process began on her other leg. Susan wished ardently that she could get hold of some real nylons so that she wouldn't have to go through this rigmarole every time she wanted to go out, but they were like gold dust nowadays.

"Can't you go up a bit higher, Ed?" Susan asked, forgetting for a moment that it was her squeamish little brother she was talking to. "When I twirl, you'll be able to see where the lines stop. I nearly got rumbled last Saturday."

That had been really humiliating – Kathleen, who was currently involved with a G.I and was perpetually showing off her real _silk_ stockings, had spotted Ed's unusually shoddy workmanship from ten paces.

Edmund looked mortified, "If you want them any higher, you can do them yourself!" he protested. She felt a little embarrassed; but really, it wasn't like she was asking anything _too _awful, was it? But then, Peter gave an uncomfortable little cough, which made Susan flush hotly.

"All right," she said, "Keep your hair on. I was only asking."

Eventually the task was done, and not before time. Edmund normally did an excellent job, but he could be very slow, and it was difficult to stand still for so long.

"Why, thank you Eddy. Ah do declare, you're a regular little angel," she joked, and messed up Edmund's hair, before heading out into the hall in preparation for her departure. She put her coat on, and stood in front of the mirror to put on her lipstick. As she was powdering her nose, Peter's face appeared in the mirror behind her. She raised her eyebrows at him and smiled.

"Susan… Where are you going tonight? You haven't told me." His tone was a little forced. She sighed inwardly, but outwardly she smiled.

"Haven't I? Oh, they're just having a little dance down at the hall. The G.I.'s have promised to show us how to jitterbug! Mrs Jenner wants all of us down there to make them feel welcome, you know."

She felt a little shiver of excitement run down her spine as she spoke; in her admittedly limited experience, she had thought Americans were lots of fun, so open and honest and easy to get on with. She was really looking forward to learning some of the wilder new dances she had been hearing about.

"Who are you going with?" Peter asked sharply, knocking his sister out of her pleasant little daydream.

"Oh, just Kathleen and Margaret," she told him, a little hurt by his tone. "Freda said she might come. I'm meeting them on the corner."

Really, he didn't need to act like he was her father! If only Peter realised how innocent these little church-hall dances were. They were well chaperoned, and almost always finished by eleven thirty. Some nice young man of her acquaintance would walk her home, to be rewarded by a chaste little peck on the cheek; and that was that! If Peter could only see for himself…

"Why don't you come with me Pete? Come on. Edmund's old enough to look after Lucy for a few hours. You could do with a night out…"

Her brother looked down at the floor, an uncomfortable almost sullen expression on his face.

"I don't dance," he said.

Now that simply wasn't true. Alright, she couldn't give him a distinct example, but Susan had plenty of vaguely pleasant memories of Peter dancing with her and Lucy.

"Oh, Peter. You used to love to dance, I remember…" she began, but then gave up. What was the use?

He paused, and for a moment Susan though he might be thinking her proposition over. But then he said: "No thanks… It's not really my scene. You go, and enjoy yourself."

"I will," she replied. "But I wish you would come out with me sometime Peter. I'm sure you would have fun. And… I miss you, you know?"

It was true, she did. Once upon a time the two eldest Pevensies had been almost inseparable. Peter could be very dry and almost _too_ serious for his own good, but one could always talk to him. Susan realised then that it had been months since the two of them had spent any real time together, although she had to admit that she hadn't exactly been around the house very much lately. Perhaps this weekend she would ask Peter to go out riding or skating with her, and they could catch up. There was definitely something on his mind.

"We used to have such fun together," she smiled at him, wanting to recapture that easy, good feeling they used to share, wanting to see him smile too. He rewarded her with a tight little grin that didn't reach his eyes.

It was twenty to eight. "Gosh, look at the time," Susan cried, snapping her compact shut. "I'm going to be late; they'll be waiting for me."

Sticking her head around the living room door, she called to Lucy and Edmund: "Bye kids, don't wait up!" As she passed Peter she gave him a heartfelt peck on the cheek, then headed out the door, shutting it behind her.

The evening was fresh, clear and full of promise.

Turning right at the garden gate, she spied three figures in the darkness at the end of the street, punctuated by the red pinprick lights of two cigarettes. Hurrying now, Susan called out:

"I'm here girls, I'm coming! Sorry I'm late!"

The three young women smiled and waved their hands in greeting, and Freda, who had evidently decided to come out after all, flicked her lighter so that Susan could light her own cigarette.

"What kept you?" Margaret asked, a mischievous glint in her eye, "Was that darling brother of yours fretting that we're a bad influence on you?"

Susan gave a little laugh and rolled her eyes, but said nothing; she didn't want to talk about Peter.

"Ooh, I tell you girls, I'd like to have a go at being a bad influence on _him!_" Freda chuckled wickedly, and Susan gave her a little push.

"Don't even think about it, Fred," she warned, only half joking. Then inhaling deeply, luxuriously, she smiled round at her friends and said:

"Right, let's get going, shall we?"


	2. Chapter 2

**I finally updated! Yay! Apologies for the massive wait, but I've been very busy getting married! I would like to dedicate this chapter to Francienyc, not only for helping me with the editing and some of Lucy's characterisation, but also for being such a wonderful friend and flying several thousand miles to come and spend my special day with me! Not only a fantastic writer, but a girl in a million...**_  
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**I hope you enjoy this after such a ridiculous length of time. It's classic Rooty-boots angst. I don't own this characters so please don't sue me, but please do R&R! Lotsa love x x **

_It was dark. The music had ended. People were saying goodbye and trailing off, one by one, two by two, arm in arm, lip to lip... but she was barely aware of them, the others seemed so far away, getting further away all the time as she walked with him... then, when he decided they were far enough away to be discreet, they stopped... his lips touched hers softly, tasting of sweet smoke and warm beer... his hands were stroking her hair, her shoulders, the small of her back, and his touch was almost tender... he kissed her neck and murmured - "I think I love you"... his tongue flicked against hers and she welcomed it, smiling against his mouth, letting him hold her close... _

_She did not respond to his words. She did not want to seem too eager, for it always paid to play coy and let the man do the chasing. But she could not deny that she liked him too, he was so handsome, so charming, so heroic-looking in his uniform... she could not restrain a little sigh, a little move towards him... he must have felt it because he moved towards her too... she felt the cold press of his pistol in her hip and its chill and its hardness brought her abruptly to her senses... she broke off the kiss and pulled her head away, laughing, her hand against his chest, pushing him gently away... _

_But he would not be pushed away. His head dipped to kiss her again, his mouth coming down on hers, hard this time... his hands clutched her to him, they tangled in her hair, they were gripping her neck and the small of her back, groping lower... he forced her head back, nibbling at her neck with sharp little teeth, and murmured - "Come on. You know you want to"... and before she could respond to his words his tongue was in her mouth again... this time she did not welcome it. Instead of a smile, a protest flew to her lips, but no sooner had she moved to speak than his hand was clamped over her mouth... _

"_Come on, baby. Take it easy now. I know you want me"... It wasn't true. Every nerve and sinew in her body screamed it, but she couldn't make a sound... She struggled, jerking sharply in his grip, her eyes angry... All at once, his knee came up and she felt a sharp blow to her belly, quickly followed by a jab to the back of her knees... her legs betrayed her in her surprise, collapsing underneath her... his weight came down on her hard and fast and only when she found herself pinned to the cold ground did she even think about screaming...but it was too late...too late... she knew this, and yet still she struggled... she thrashed under him like a fish on a riverbank that knows it is caught but still fights for life despite the hook in its mouth and the encroaching darkness... _

_He hit her then, a stinging blow to her temple... her head reeled and turned sharply on her neck... she cried out but the sound was muffled by his hard hand, her sobs retched in her throat... she felt the pain burn through her skull, the blood seeping down her cheek into the grass... through the dizziness, she registered cold steel at her temple and hot, foul words in her ear... "Don't make me kill you. Don't think I won't"... all pretence of affection was long gone now... a hard knee came down on her legs, parting them and bruising the flesh... through her haze, she heard the blue dress rip, and she worried for her sister's buttons... she could not bear to lose them... as he fumbled with her slip and pushed it up around her waist, she tried desperately to remember how many there had been... as he unbuttoned his fly she was counting - 'one, two...' and when the terrible, bursting pain finally came she felt strangely at peace, because she had remembered... _

_As he began to move in her, a lonely thought swam across Susan's mind... Four... there were four of them... that was good... _

_Then everything was black._

It was just starting to get light.

Edmund woke from a nightmare of crushing darkness, and reared up from the mattress with his heart pounding and his lungs screaming for air. Shaking, he clutched at his chest through his pyjama top, now clammy with sweat, and shut his eyes tightly in a vain attempt to block out the horrific images still cavorting in front of his eyes. He pressed his fists to his sockets until flaming colour burst across his vision, blocking the pictures out. It was just a dream. Just a silly nightmare, like the ones he used to have as a tiny child that had jolted him from sleep and sent him running to his big sister for comfort. Just a dream.

But it was no good. Perhaps nothing would ever be good again. He didn't know. But as he took his hands from his face and gazed around the dim, familiar room that was not his - at the tight line of worry on Peter's sleeping brow, at Lucy, curled up so unusually small on the mattress beside him, at his own shaking hands - he knew for sure that this was real.

Edmund got up from his makeshift bed, feeling the need to move; he did this carefully, not wanting to disturb Lucy. And there she was; Susan, lying in seeming peace, in her own bed, on her own pillows, as if nothing had ever happened. Without him realising it, Edmund's feet drew him towards her; without thought, he sat down on the bed and looked at his sister's sleeping face. The medicine the doctor had given her had worked its magic and she slept serenely, her face blank, her body lax and forgetful in its posture. Her head was turned to the side and the dark bruise at her temple was concealed in the pillow, so that her face appeared without flaw. She looked unchanged.

But something had changed, and though he knew it, Edmund felt a sharp urge to prove it to himself; a grim determination to remove all doubt from his mind; and so, with a moments hesitation, he flipped back the blanket and looked stonily down at Susan's small, bare foot. Yes. It was bandaged; blackened and bruised and bleeding, just as he had known it would be. There was no pretending it away now, even if Edmund had been the type to lie to himself, and he never had been. No matter how bad the situation, he had always taken comfort in knowing the truth. Not like Susan; not like her.

Everybody said he and Susan were alike. They shared the same soot-black hair, the same wary half-smile, the same realistic nature, just as Peter and Lucy were fair-haired and open and amusingly idealistic. He and Susan had often shared a secret roll of the eyes at Peter's insistent heroism or an indulgent smile at Lucy's blissfully innocent chatter. But this was one thing they could not share; that she could never explain and he would never understand, even though he had seen it with his own eyes.

Rubbing his face violently to threaten the tears away, he jumped up and stumbled across the room, across the landing, to the quiet, cool bathroom, wishing very much that he could shut the door tightly behind him. But he could not; there it was, leaning against the wall, mocking him, another unforgiving reminder that the nightmare of the last twenty four hours was his reality and it could not be denied. The sharp stink of bile and antiseptic still hung around the room. The screwdriver he and Peter had used to remove the door from its hinges lay on the windowsill. Even if he _had_ been able to pretend to himself for a moment, the dark stains that remained on the linoleum in spite of Lucy's feverish scrubbing would have jolted him out of it. Edmund gazed around the bathroom in a blank haze of misery.

Two minutes later, he emerged, leaving the cistern hissing behind him, and he wondered what to do next. He could go into his own room, but there was nowhere to sit and nothing to do to occupy his mind; he could go downstairs and sit in the kitchen and make yet another pot of tea, but he knew that even that comforting little ritual would provide him with little solace now. When Edmund was sad or afraid or angry, his instinct was always to tuck himself away and be alone until he had worked things through. But there was nowhere to hide and no hope of finding an answer on his own. He may as well go back. In fact, he found he _wanted_ to go back to them; to have Peter's solidly comforting presence nearby, to feel Lucy safe next to him, to be close to Susan, in case she needed him, in case... Edmund shook his head.

Softly, not wanting to wake anyone, he pushed open the door to Susan's room. Quietly, he moved across the carpet, not daring to look at the bed, though the black and whiteness of Susan's exposed foot caught him by the corner of his eye. Pressing his lips tightly together he lay himself stubbornly down on the mattress beside his younger sister and turned his back to the bed. He shut his eyes tight and sighed deeply. He was exhausted, but he knew there was little chance of him drifting off, and several long hours to get through before anyone else would wake up.

He had not been back in bed more than a minute before a small pair of warm arms wrapped themselves around his neck. He flinched, then relaxed into Lucy's confiding embrace, keeping his eyes closed even as she spoke to him, in a whisper:

"Edmund. Are you alright?"

These simple words caught him by surprise, winding him as badly as a knee to the stomach. He had thought he could be strong, but now, he found himself weak; his lips trembled and he screwed his eyes all the tighter shut, unconsciously coiling himself up into a protective ball, as if he really had been struck. It was all he could do to make a vague noise of assent:

"Mmm..."

He heard Lucy sigh, sensed her arms tightening around him, felt the warm drip of a tear on his cheek, a tear that was not his. His sister gave a little sniff and laid her head down on his arm.

"No you're not. I know you're not. Neither am I." Lucy bit back her tears for a moment and he could feel her chest against his back as she sought to control herself. "This is so awful, Ed. I can't believe it's really happened."

He nodded, and tentatively touched her hand, glad he did not have to look at her just at that moment. Lucy gave a soft little shudder and as he heard her gulp back her easy tears, a surge of tenderness welled up in Edmund's eyes and in his heart. He wanted to break down and cry. Instead, he opened his mouth and spoke:

"Please... I... promise me, when we're out, you'll stay close to me."

Lucy shifted and he knew she had sat up a little to look at him, but he didn't move. He couldn't look back at her for fear of breaking down into tears or rage. Because he had something he needed to say.

"And never... never walk home on your own."

"Why do you say that?" she asked weakly, confused.

"If you want to go anywhere, I'll take you. If you need to be anywhere, I'll wait for you. Alright?"

Lucy sighed a little, beginning to understand, and opened her mouth to speak, but when she did not immediately answer him, Edmund cut her off with a fierce whisper, asking again:

"Alright?"

She sighed again, and he felt her slump down onto the mattress, laying her head back on the pillow, but she kept her arms tightly around him, and though he would never admit it, Edmund was glad of it. He wanted to explain and he needed Lucy to understand.

"I'm sorry. I know it's not fair. But it's the way things are now. You can't trust anybody here. It's not like Narnia."

Lucy seemed to think about this for several long moments, before volunteering in an unwilling murmur: "People weren't always trustworthy in Narnia, either."

"No... but at least in Narnia, I could... I could... here I just have to stand by and watch... I was Edmund the Just. Where's the justice in this world?"

As he thought this statement over and let the truth of it sink into him, an unpalatable, almost unbearable bitterness welled up in both his heart and his throat, and Edmund gagged on his frustration. Even before his sister could move to speak, or to attempt to soothe him, he found himself crying at last, his head in his hands.

"I want to go home! I hate it here! I was just learning to let go..."

"I know, Ed. It's so awful." Lucy rubbed his arm and held him tight, wiping his tears on the sheet, and for once Edmund didn't mind being held and fussed over by his little sister, he didn't shrug her off. He needed it, because the only person in his life that he had ever allowed to comfort and coddle him was seemingly lost to him, and he didn't know if he would ever get her back. And even Edmund needed to be held sometimes.

"And she... she's forgotten! That's what hurts the most. She doesn't even have the memories left. How I'm feeling, right now... at least I have my memories, of when things were good, and beautiful. But what does she have? And I'm _so_ angry with her for letting it all go..."

And he was. He realised that now. Susan had been slipping away for so long now that he had almost forgotten how close they had once been. All of them. But now the sting of her self-imposed isolation came back to him and all at once he was sadder and more angry than he had ever allowed himself to be before. He loved Susan so much, yet he found himself wanting to shake her almost as much as he wanted to protect her, avenge her. Guilt stabbed him in the chest. How could he feel this way, after everything Susan had been through? Where _was _the justice in that? He didn't know who he was anymore.

But then, Lucy said: "So am I, sometimes."

She spoke in a quiet, flat voice, and Edmund could imagine her face though his back was to her – the bitten lip, the lowered eyes - but he could not have been more surprised if she had yelled. Lucy never blamed. She never seemed to see the point of getting angry. Both of his sisters were like that. But of course, almost as soon as she had voiced the thought, Lucy, being who she was, had moved through it and come out the other side to a place of good-natured sense – a hopeful place. Barely drawing a breath, she continued:

"But right now... There's no room to be angry. We have to help her. I mean, I understand why you are, Ed. But maybe...oh, I don't know. Maybe this will let her open up? That's the only reason I can come up with."

A reason? The sound of the word made Edmund clench his fists in impotent fury. The idea that there may be some plan behind all of this made him feel both hopeful and humbled and yet also unspeakably angry. All their lives, at least, their _other_ lives, the four Pevensies had lived only in part for themselves. There had always been one eye kept on the greater good; the grand plan that had tugged them out of England in the first place to reign as kings and queens of the most beautiful country he had ever known. The same plan that had thrown them out again when they had outlived their usefulness, then pulled them back in whenever they were needed. It had always been about Narnia - never themselves. And that was something that Edmund, along with his siblings, had long since come to terms with. But the idea that Susan could have been made to suffer so badly simply to force her back into herself and bring her back into the fold... that was one step too far, even for Edmund, who had always been the most aggressive in his attempts to get Susan to remember their other life - to the extent that Peter had taken him aside and ordered him to let the matter drop.

Seemingly sensing his resistance, Lucy loosened her grip a little and sat up to look at her brother, questioning softly: "Why else, how else could this have happened to her?"

Edmund frowned deeply, and wrestled with himself, wondering whether he could bring himself to say what he had inside him to say. But Lucy could always be relied upon to listen without prejudice, and so he tried her out:

"He spoke to me, you know. Just then, when Susan was really... ill. When she was bleeding. When I ran out of the house to get the doctor. I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't know where to go. And he spoke to me. He helped me to think clearly."

Lucy knew immediately who Edmund was speaking of. Aslan. The Great Lion. Her eyes widened and seemed to shine, even in the dim light of the dull grey morning.

"He did?" she asked, eagerly, forgetting her sadness and confusion in that moment. Edmund nodded, but his own face was grim.

"Now, I feel like he's abandoned us."

Lucy's face fell, and she regarded her brother with an almost fearful expression. He could see she was trying so hard not to believe it, not to give up hope. Her chin shook a little, and she began:

" He really hasn't. I can see why you feel like that, but..."

Edmund interrupted, needing to know.

"Has he spoken to you? You know, recently?"

" No...not spoken to me, exactly. But I feel him. I know he's there. I just know it, Edmund. He'd never leave us alone. I mean, he let Narnia fall to the White Witch... There's hope. There will be spring. He's coming. He's here, even. "

At this, Edmund finally turned over to face his sister. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his head in her neck.

"I wish I could have your faith. I wish you could give some of it to Susan..."

And he did. But even if his own faith was shaken, even if his other sister had all but forgotten their shared past, it was somehow enough that Lucy remembered, and that she still believed. As she squeezed him tight, he felt a wave of gratitude for his Valiant little sister.

"Thanks, Lu. I mean it," he sniffed, wiping his eyes. He felt more cheerful. Stronger. Lighter. He knew he could go on, and be as strong as Susan needed him to be. Because no matter what happened, whether she came back to them or not, she was their sister, and they all loved her. And perhaps Lucy was right, and spring was just around the corner. In any case, there was no good to come from giving up hope. They had to hold fast.

"I feel a bit better now."

Lucy stroked his hair a little and smiled, but her eyes were tired.

"Are you really alright?" she questioned him, concerned.

"No," Edmund answered honestly. "But I will be. And so will you. And so will Peter... and Susan. Eventually."

Lucy smiled then, and yawned, cuddling close to her brother and closing her eyes. Edmund closed his too, and before he knew it, he had drifted off into a blissfully dreamless sleep, Lucy's hopeful words covering him like a blanket.


End file.
